Closer
by Hushabye
Summary: Dominance and weakness. Two very different words- two very similar concepts. Jokachel smut. OneShot.


_A/N: _**FIRST LEMON! Please be as kind as possible. Suggestions and constructive criticisms are always welcomed. Flaming is prohibited. Mature content and Jokachel ahead. And definitely more mature than a person of my age should be writing about, but no matter. You live life once, right?  
…** **So, my whole idea for this story is to kind of flip between past and present, comparing the time the Joker and Rachel first met to the love making of now, bringing out the similarities. Hopefully I did an okay job of that. Once again, this _is_ my first sexual story, so I might not do a very good job, but oh well. At least I tried. _Also_… there is not a lot of -cough- playing with… privates, I guess. So if you're into that, this may not be the fic for you. If you aren't, though, you might've stumbled upon an alright read.  
****Listen to _Closer _by Nine Inch Nails. This OneShot is based off of it. And… if I don't get the party scene from the movie completely right, please don't flame me for it. I haven't seen TDK in awhile. If it is too OOC, too, deal with it or tell me improvements I could make in a decent way. And I'm also extremely sorry for deleting my other stories. Please read my profile for more info on that. xD...

* * *

**_Closer_

Hatred didn't even measure up to what Rachel Dawes was feeling at the exact moment. She had no idea how it came about, but whatever it was was making the Joker pleased. Everything showed in the way he clutched her, staring down at her from his mighty, dominant perch. His eyes searched her every definition, every breath, every curve, anything visible. She noticed that every time and once again glared at him, trying to think of all of the horrid things he had done to her. Including her love life being thrown out the window thanks to him, hitching a ride on the death train. She wanted to feel miserable, like always, and yet somehow, nothing compared to the way he didn't make her feel. Sure he made her feel hatred, lost, confused, broken, but one emotion he could never give was love. And she realized that, since Harvey Dent had died and Bruce Wayne hadn't fulfilled her needs, love was dead. And love didn't need to be alive in order for people to function properly. It didn't matter anymore.

She continued to glare.

The sex always turned out ravishing when Rachel was mad. There was no logic connected to it, yet it made perfect sense. The Joker fought back a smile toward the obligatory truth and harshly moved his hips against hers, creating earthquakes throughout her being. She tried staying in rhythm with his actions, but like he moved to the beat of his own drum, he wasn't like the other men she dated or made love to. They were easier to keep up with, in both senses. His patterns were way too fast and sometimes way too sluggish. She never could keep up either way, so she tried out her own system, sinuously crunching against him and making it a tad bit slower. She couldn't take the grinding of hipbone after awhile and just began making noises that she never even knew existed. They were too hard to imagine or describe. But unlike the easygoing hold she had upon the Joker, he liked those noises. Liked them a lot.

--

"Well hello, _beautiful_," the Joker cooed, smoothing his hair back with his knife in one swift motion. "You must be Harvey's _squeeze_."

Rachel appeared unfazed and still stared at him with evil eyes. The Joker could sense a wall about to tear down, but never showed it. He seemed to move with clumsy, precious ease toward her as all of the people in _his _audience watched with terror etched upon their piteous faces. He leered, letting his pupils flit up, down, up, down. He didn't care if he came off rude or perverted. That was the way he was.

"And you _are _beautiful," he slyly stated, circling her, tormenting her with his biting gaze. She followed his eyes and tried not to break down or show weakness. She tried to stay strong, but her expression changed when he stopped and looked at her, straight on. What was she feeling? She was feeling violated. She let it go and fly into the open like a newborn butterfly. Mistake.

"You look _nervous_," he said, nodding his head as if he were talking to a little child who had just done something very naughty, but was immediately forgiven. "Is it the _scars_?" he asked, inching closer and closer, centimeters from Rachel's face. She was numb on the inside now. His stare penetrated her and made her stick to the ground like an icicle hanging from someones roof.

"Wanna know how I got 'em?" His breath chilled her core and he grinned. Never ending.

--

Gripping the bed post with both hands, Rachel let out her envious rage by rubbing the adequately frazzled wood so hard that blood began drooling down her fingers. Her palms were raw with furor. Crimson stained the bleach white sheets in small, petty driblets. She ignored the pain and acknowledged the Joker's beautiful, moonstruck eyes, wanting to keep her energy up sufficiently. He never looked anywhere else but at her. He licked his velvet red lips and let his violent side seethe through. His makeup was starting to melt from his face and it fell onto her stomach, but instead of being annoyed with its uniformed procedure, she enjoyed its wet feel. It made her feel accomplished at last, somehow.

Rachel awkwardly unhooked herself from the miniature pillars, the bars reminding her of jail cells, and dug her vermilion nails into his back. She scratched him in long, winding trails due to the rocky movements that they maneuvered in a slightly stable way. She felt lukewarm blood swim down his pale skin. The Joker didn't even laugh, the usual response to a bruising of _any _kind, and seemed to let it roll off like the tide coming in. He rushed his never normal process along, wanting Rachel to give in to temptation and not be delivered from evil.

--

"Come here," the Joker calmly commanded, trying to get a good grip on Rachel's face. She didn't want him to, though. She didn't want to know what feelings would course through her veins once he laid a purple gloved hand on her.

"_C'mere_," he demanded, letting his mild patience fade. He was becoming increasingly bothered by the constant lolling of her head.

Finally he held onto her soft cheek and rested his blade on the other. He squeezed her skin, trying to hurt her so, trying to get her to stop twisting and thrashing around. She couldn't help it, though. If only he could just appreciate that and move on to another helpless victim.

Nothing was ever that simple.

--

Rachel met the Joker's chest with her lips and he shivered due to the delicate feeling. Nothing that sincere should ever touch him and she should know that by now. He forcefully grabbed her arms and pinned them to the sides of the claret tinted bed, glaring at her. At last, _he _was the one who was angry. She smiled on the inside. Another splash of paint sloshed onto her skin and she immediately swiped it with her finger. The Joker followed her with his flamed orbs and found her making a path all the way down his torso and on to his soft spot. She never let her smile fade innard wise and down slithered her body. Sucking animatedly, she felt better and so did he. He gritted his teeth loudly in both a tolerating way and a pissed off way.

But Rachel wanted more.

--

The Joker began another of his _riveting _scar tales, his ex wife being the star. Rachel struggled against him and her feelings, barely listening to his story. She was too focused on the closeness of their bodies and the beat of her heart pounding in her ears.

--

Fingers working their malicious charm, the Joker caressed Rachel's breasts, feeling her ever hardening nipples arade his index and middle. She never knew that something so _little _could make her feel so _pleased_.

She wanted to kiss him now, but knew that he'd push her away. He always did. He never kissed on the mouth. Never wanted anything little to please him.

--

Awkward feelings filled the air between the Joker and Rachel. Both didn't want there to be a crowd of people watching their every move. They wanted to be left alone. He wanted to slice her open; she wanted to feel something other than numbing cold. The Joker pressed the knife deeper, hoping that would pause Rachel's swaying. It didn't. He noticed and paid particular attention as he went on with his tragedy, pushing down rigorously, enjoying himself.

--

"Say my name," the Joker's baritone licked the inside of Rachel's ear. She heard it, but didn't want to listen. He mistook that want for an act of sheer disobedience and thrust himself inside of her, taking great lengths at making her quiver and shake, maybe even scream, with severe ache. The heat levels skyrocketed and Rachel knew that there must be something other than warm white liquid gushing from between her legs. Red must be mixed into the lust concoction.

Rachel took everything out on the Joker's back once more, wanting more than anything to be on top, to have control, have him say her name, kiss him. Never let her silly anemic feelings intrude. Her mind tried drifting to another, less harmful place, but the present wouldn't let her. The room was too intoxicated, too rotten with the smells of want, sweat, and sex.

--

Pain shot through the Joker's groin as Rachel's knee met it. He sank down for only a second before he stood back up with pride. He scoffed at her pathetic effort at trying to catch him off guard through a laugh. The wall had almost been torn down.

--

New, unloved word of these last few, precious hours. Dominance. Rachel didn't have it at all, yet it was within scant reach. The Joker was way too powerful. If only she could catch him off guard then the wicked spell would be at least partially broken. She hadn't given up just yet. The miserable, delicious feel of him inside was too heavenly for now. Her screams could be heard for miles, but not his name.

--

The Joker pointed to Rachel with his weapon. "A little fight in ya."

--

A dangerous idea formed in the back of Rachel's mind. The floor. She'd get him on the floor. Possible, but the most difficult level ever reached when giving herself to him.

Rachel left a track of kisses down his length. She could feel him become distracted. Nobody could _ever _touch him like that and get away gleefully. Even in a state of dire emergency; especially. He grabbed her hair harshly and shoved her head into the pillows. His palm was flat on the creases of her forehead as he did so. The look inside his glittering, accursed eyes was enough to send Rachel down a pitiful spiral of insanity. But she decided to wrap her arms around his back and feel the groove of her markings. He glowered, but was still disturbed. She could tell that her touch unwantedly tickled. He let her go, but didn't want to. It was now or never.

Rachel glanced at him, no longer mad, in fact, far from it. No longer feeling anything but shattered control. Focused and concentrated on the impossible task at hand. In one brief motion, she lifted her heavy head up while he had his eyes closed, and kissed him on the lips for the first time, letting her hands crawl quickly over his back. She rolled him slightly over, but only for a moment, and not even onto the ground. Still, she did have him flat on his... side. She still triumphed. Even if only halfway.

The Joker wasn't angry like Rachel thought he would be. At least he didn't seem like it. Instead he looked pensive, as if pondering why she would do something that chance-y. She wished she could read him more, but he was too challenging to figure out. His expression never changed, and like always during sex, never uttered a word for a great amount of time. But his eyes showed something resembling shock. Just the thing Rachel was pawing for. It dispersed as soon as it had come, but it _was_ there. It was there.

Rachel's head was lifted again. The Joker eyed her with suspicion. She paused right next to his ear, bringing her whole body with her, letting her breasts press against his chest.

"Say _my_ name." She firmly kissed his cheek. "_Jack_."

--

"I like that," the Joker concluded, faintly stepping toward her one last time. A demanding woman stood before him. Controlling. She just needed to be set free, given hell-bound wings. He could do that for her easily. He seemed to have that effect on people. They easily gave up their hopes and dreams, if only it would save their meaningless lives. He could see her in all reality instead of fake courage. She'd be his by then. She would've lost herself to him.

He could help her. He could help her. All it would take would be just a little...

_push_.

* * *

  
_A/N:_ **Sex is kind of like murder for Rachel with the Joker, huh? Sex and violence in the same category. _Any _new move would definitely be difficult for anyone to try on him, I would think. Also, is it normal for one to blush profusely as they write something like this? My face is severely red right now for some odd reason, I swear!  
Sorry, I ramble too much, but reviews are highly appreciated! As always! I luffle them. xD...**


End file.
